A Heart Worth Breaking
by Ink Reservoir
Summary: "He liked stories of moments, the slow falling in love of romance novels was a bore to him. He preferred to see things, the exact second when one entered this state of "in love" that he didn't understand. The smile that they only smiled once, because it was the pinnacle of happiness in their lives. The look on his face when the other lay dead in his arms." Deidara-centric.


**A Heart Worth Breaking**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto.**

Passion was one of Deidara's highest values. As far as he was concerned, almost anything could be artistic so long as the person who'd created was honest in creating it.

This was why he labeled his own art as "true". Because there was truth in his love for it. Something that could only be glorious once, beautiful in its rarity. Something that shone once, and then died, it was that moment of life that made art, and he could talk about this for days at a time. Still, he was getting off topic.

It was due to these values that Deidara began to value love. Because what was love, really? It was passion in one of its rawest forms, and he could appreciate that. He could even call it artistic. But what Deidara liked the most about love was that it never lasted forever.

Deidara didn't remember the exact moment when he'd discovered the beauties of language, but he did remember reading. He always used to frown at the expression of an "immortal story", because he thought that wasn't the point. He didn't understand how others could read the same books over and over, and more than that, he didn't understand why people were so obsessed with "happily ever after".

"It sounds rather boring, don't you think, un?" he'd said to Sasori once, before he found out Sasori would never understand. "To be happy forever?"

"It sounds restful," Sasori had said in return.

"Yeah, but danna, how's that a good thing?" he'd said in protest. "The spice of life, the richness, the reason that happiness even _exists_, hm, is because of the pitfalls!"

"After struggle, what need is there for pitfalls?" Sasori shrugged.

"Well, so you don't forget!" Deidara shook his head. "Most of what we perceive as happiness is just our memory of it."

Sasori sighed. "I thought you were against the idea of memories."

"No! Of course not!" Deidara shook his head. "That's part of what makes art beautiful, un, the fact that it's gone and all you have to remember it is a distorted image. You can't have it again, ever, not exactly the same way. Isn't that art? That longing, the beauty of a single momen-"

"No," Sasori had said simply. Deidara waited for him to continue but he didn't say anything more.

"That's it? No?"

Sasori sighed. "You could never understand."

That had launched Deidara into a long-winded rant, but thinking back on it now he realized that perhaps there was a beauty to not understanding things. He liked stories of moments, the slow falling in love of romance novels was a bore to him. He preferred to see things, the exact second when one entered this state of "in love" that he didn't understand. The smile that he only smiled once, because it was the pinnacle of happiness in his life. The look on his face when the other lay dead in his arms.

"Why are you so obsessed with endings?"

"I'm not obsessed with endings, hm, I'm obsessed with the fact it ended."

"That's the same thing," Sasori rolled his eyes. "You'll probably laugh when you die."

"Probably, yeah," Deidara grinned. "But the important thing will be the laugh."

He wasn't morbid, the way Sasori accused him of being (like he was one to talk), he was merely appreciative. How could a story be immortal, anyway? It was such a stupid concept. As long as there was a last page, the story wasn't immortal.

"It's the experience."

"You're an idiot."

It was the short stories that he wanted to be a part of, and when he thought of love, he thought of art.

"Why must you be so overdramatic?"

"So no one even thinks about forgetting me, un! I'll leave as quickly as I entered but my existence will be the earthquake that reminds people they're alive!"

"You realize it took you nine entire months to enter."

Deidara winked. "Of course I did, I had to be perfect before I could make the entire world cry."

He always thought that if he were to be involved in any kind of romance, he'd be an unprofessional heartbreaker. This was because he only needed to break one heart. He wasn't the kind of person to try and recreate perfection out of nostalgia.

"What could you possibly find appealing about knock-off copies of people who used to be alive?"

"They aren't _knock-offs_," Sasori spat. "They're modifications."

"Meh."

"I love you," he said to his reflection. His reflection didn't say anything, and he didn't look realistic enough, and it was annoying him.

"I loved you," he tried, and still didn't like it. So he shrugged and walked away.

"Oi, Sasori."

"What?"

"I loved you."

"What?"

"I'm just trying something. Don't worry, un, it didn't work anyway."

The first time he saw the Uchiha, he thought that maybe he was the one who could be shattered brilliantly.

"He's already been shattered," Kisame said when he'd asked. "Don't tell him I said so."

"Yeah, yeah."

Sasori rolled his eyes when they were sitting on the dead boy, waiting for the next Jinchuriki to come.

"There's no such thing as something 'worth destroying'."

"Danna, I'm complimenting your village, just accept it."

"I'm not of that village anymore."

"You have the word Suna in your _name_."

"That's not the point."

"What is, then, yeah, if you're so smart?" Deidara challenged.

"The _point _is that humans destroy everything, and what's beautiful is what's worth keeping."

"You've got it all wrong," Deidara argued. "Destruction is life. Life is beautiful."

"Life's not beautiful."

"Then why do you want to live forever, hm?"

Sasori smirked.

"Oh, right," Deidara followed up quickly. "Because you're a rebel."

The smirk came off Sasori's face and onto Deidara's it went. The next time he smirked at Sasori that day, it was because he was dead.

"Disgraceful," he'd said, grinning at the disarray. "How perfect. You thought you could escape art, un!"

His eyes trailed over to where Sasori's encased heart had been stabbed through, and Deidara wished he could have seen his own face then, because it was that exact second when he realized he'd already missed his moment.

**A/N: This fic was inspired by the line "I'm mistaken for handing you a heart worth breaking" from "How You Remind Me" by Nickelback. To be honest, I'm a little disappointed with how it turned out... still, reviews are always appreciated!**


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